


my heart looks for her (she is not with me)

by caughtinkhanded



Series: the memory of you [2]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caughtinkhanded/pseuds/caughtinkhanded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight I can write the saddest lines.<br/>To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.</p><p>I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.<br/>Love is so short, forgetting is so long.</p><p>Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms<br/>my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.</p><p>Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer<br/>and these the last verses that I write for her. </p><p>-Pablo Neruda</p><p>(sequel to "in this part of the story (i am the one who dies)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. love is so short

You had thought that you were strong. You may not have been the glittering diamond that your Maman had claimed. But you were not weak; you were not human. 

But, oh, were you. You are so very human. 

You are so human that you want to rip your own heart out. (Anything would be less painful than this) You want to scream and sob and curse the world. But your lungs refuse. 

So here you are. Only able to stand and watch as she is lowered into the earth. 

You couldn’t even bear to stand near her father as he watched his only daughter’s funeral. You were a coward. You knew this; your mother knew this; Laura knew this. 

All you wanted to do was run. Run and never look back. You should be the one under the earth. You never should’ve emerged from that damn tomb. If you hadn’t, Laura would’ve never met you; she never would’ve been in a position to be shot. 

A priest speaks over her body, murmuring words of Latin. You had never known her father was religious. There was so much you never knew and so much you wanted to know, but never would. 

She was dead because of you. Just as so many others were. You were a poison to society. Everything you touched burned to the ground. 

You hide in the shadows as the service ends. The first to leave is Laura’s father; you can see her smile in his pained face. Silent tears run down his familiar face as he stumbles out of the graveyard. Then the rest of her family leaves, muttering softly to each other: “how did our sweet Laura get mixed up in this?”. Her friends left next; the tall ginger now walks with a limp; the science one looks like they’re waiting for another attack; the curly haired one just looks twitchy. You know they looked for you, but you refuse to deal with that. 

As they leave, you feel a sob ripped from your throat and into the cooling air. Your back hits the rough bark of the tree as you stumble backwards. 

You stay there, tears rolling down your cheeks, until the stars have appeared. With stiff limbs, you make your way to her grave. 

LAURA MARIE HOLLIS  
May 12, 1996 – April 20, 2015  
Beloved Daughter and Friend. 

But she was so much more than that. She was your everything, your world. And you let her die. 

“I’m so, so, so sorry, Laura. It should’ve been me. It wasn’t supposed to be you,” you choke out, “you should be here. Watching your ridiculous shows and eating your cookies and hating me. I’m sorry that we fought. I’m sorry that I left. I’m sorry you ever knew me.” 

You clutch at your knees, curling yourself into a ball. Tears stream down your face in a torrent. 

“Are you Carmilla?” a soft voice asks behind you. You straighten up, your body instantly ready for a fight. “Laura told me all about you. She really loved you.” Laura’s father, a man who should hate you, smiles down at you kindly. “Why don’t you join me for a cup of cocoa? I think that’s what Laura would’ve wanted.” He held out a hand and you couldn’t help but take it, especially when it was Laura’s eyes looking down at you.


	2. forgetting is so long

Kirsch had carried her body out of the building before Lafontaine had burned it down. You had followed numbly after, tears cutting through the grime and blood that coated your cheeks. 

Once you were clear of the death and destruction, you had clutched at her body, praying, hoping that she would wake up from this nightmare with a smirk and a “well that was a trip”. But she didn’t. 

You had painstakingly washed the blood from her beautiful face, your tears coming in fresh waves as you noticed how young she looked. 

Kirsch had asked, in a soft, halting voice, where you wanted to bury her. You had thought for a moment before saying, “We need to take her home.” 

Kirsch, bless him, only nodded. (God, and he had lost so much too) Then he asked if you wanted company. You shook your head. You needed to do this alone. You needed to pay your penance. You needed to try and show Carmilla one last time that you did love her despite what she may have thought. 

He handed you the keys to his car without any more questions. You wrapped Carmilla’s body in a blanket and set her gently in the trunk. 

Schloss von Karnstein was only an hour’s drive, but as you wound your way around the Alps, it felt like it would never end. Your eyes held no more tears; your lungs held no more cries; your heart felt like it was missing entirely. 

You stare up at the imposing ruins of Carmilla’s childhood home. You try to imagine a younger version of her. A version of her untainted by death and blood and pain. A version that smiled freely and danced with a laugh. A version that wasn’t scarred by what the world had done by her. 

You drive slowly through the tract of land until you come upon the small family graveyard. A small cluster of worn headstone glare at you under the headlights. A stone mausoleum sits at the back, an intricate stone angel watching over the graveyard. 

If you had been here in better circumstances, you would’ve held Carmilla’s hand and asked her all about her family. But you weren’t. And it was time to wake up. Carmilla had accused you of living in an idealistic world with good and evil; her death had burned that world to the ground. 

Yanking off your shredded sweater, you began to dig in an empty area. The work is backbreaking and you can’t help but feel that you deserve it. Each drop of sweat, each ache of your body, each whimper of pain is the beginning of your apology to the girl that you loved. 

Your mind is filled with phrases she had said, smirking at you playfully; the soft brush of her hand in her hair as she read; the look in her eyes after she had kissed you and you had pushed her away; the look in her face when you had begged her to go to war for you. 

The hole is finally deep enough and you return to the car to retrieve her body. As you carry her body, you want to stumble and fall, but you won’t. She deserves better. She deserved better. 

With the utmost care, you lay her body into the hole. 

You stare at her face one more time, memorizing the slope of her cheeks, the shape of her lips, the drop of her nose. This will be the last time you will see her face. 

Then you begin to bury the girl that you love in the middle of the woods in Austria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, I apologize for the extreme angst. perhaps some day I will write something that is less depressing, but today is not that day, my friends.


End file.
